


stars in your skin

by haleofStilesheart



Series: Tumblr Prompts [29]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bullied Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Fluff, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Supportive Derek, past bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:23:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleofStilesheart/pseuds/haleofStilesheart
Summary: Stiles absolutely hates his moles. Derek, not so much.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



> For the prompt: Stiles hating his moles (kids are mean growing up and any differences are shamed) and Derek showing Stiles how perfect (sexy) his moles are.
> 
> Though there's not much sexy stuff.

Stiles hated his moles.

Kids can be cruel and any differences are shamed and exploited as weaknesses. Growing up, his classmates had been no exception.

A lifetime of incessant teasing and brutal insults from his peers about the dark marks that were scattered across his skin had taught him to hate the mere sight of them. Even years later, at nineteen, he avoided mirrors, not wanting to see the blemishes that for years he had been ridiculed for.

When he was younger, when his mother was still alive, filling the Stilinski home with laughter and love and so much happiness no matter the occasion, he had loved moles. Had cherished the fact that he so resembled his mother, bearing the same dark beauty marks that adorned her own cheeks. 

Every night when his mother tucked him into bed, after reading him his favorite bedtime story, she would tell him that his moles were kisses from an angel, pecking him on the forehead before slipping out of his bedroom to go wait for his dad to get home, ever the dutiful sheriff’s wife. He would dream about angels pressing kisses to newborn babies’ cheeks, moles appearing wherever their lips had been, sprinkling stardust over them for good luck.

After his mother died he stopped believing in angels.

In their place, he started believing the words of the kids in his class when they pushed him down on the playground and called him ugly, when they kicked sand in his eyes and called him a freak because he could never stop talking and fidgeted all the time, even when he took his medication.

When he got older, he already hated his himself―his appearance especially―the callous comments from his classmates, and occasionally even teachers, only exacerbating his self-loathing. Because even without their harsh words and bruising fists, he was convinced he was repulsive, all gangly limbs and pale pasty skin freckled with dark moles. 

So it was hard to believe when Derek, Adonis among men, started showing interest in him. But like so many other things in his life, the impossible was very much real.

It had started―to his knowledge at least, some of Peter’s snide little comments leading him to believe Derek had been harboring feelings for him much longer―a few months after the Nogitsune ordeal. He had begun to notice the way Derek’s hand would linger on the small of his back or his shoulder when he slipped passed him or directed him somewhere, the way Derek would keep glancing at him from the corner of his eye long after he had finished talking, the way Derek was much more open around him than with anyone else, laughing more freely and even blushing around him.

The little occurrences eventually culmintated in Derek asking him out, seemingly out of the blue, after a pack meeting, looking so open and genuine that it taken Stiles aback. He had quickly composed himself enough to demand if Derek was serious, waiting for the punchline, for Derek to laugh at him and tell him he couldn’t believe Stiles thought he would ever seriously ask him out.

Stiles had been the victim of more fake date requests than he cared to mention.

Without missing a beat, Derek confirmed that he was completely serious, suggesting dinner and a movie the following Saturday, wondering aloud if Stiles would rather see the new Star Wars again or watch something else. Stiles, though still skeptical of Derek’s intentions, had agreed, claiming that he could stand to go see Rogue One again, as long as they got both Reese’s cups  _ and _ popcorn.

Derek had enthusiastically declared that it was a deal and moderately long story short, they had been dating ever since, Stiles still trying to figure out what in the world Derek possibly saw in him.

The thoughts constantly plagued him, whispering doubts into his ear whenever Derek kissed him, crowing about how awful of a kisser he must be, how Derek must be suffering a brain injury to want to voluntarily touch Stiles. They cackled and taunted him when he cuddle with Derek on the couch, instilling a paranoid fear in him that Derek was just stringing him along to let him down with the crushing admission that it had all just been one big cruel joke.

He only managed to console himself with the fact that he knew Derek could never do something so heartless, would never even think of it. He was too sweet and kind and considerate and just so  _ good _ that he would never intentionally hurt anyone.

Yet the insecurity still remained, making him overanalyze nearly every word Derek said whether it be a simple hello or question about dinner, every move he made whether it be curling an arm around Stiles’ shoulders while they watched Netflix or holding a door open for him when they went out on dates. And it certainly didn’t help that Derek was such a tactile person, constantly running his hands over Stiles’ arms, reminding him that he was a scrawny little twig when compared to Derek’s Herculean build, and carding his fingers through his hair, reminding him that he was as plain as they came with his boring brown hair and brown eyes.

All of those thoughts eventually came to a head when he snapped at Derek in the middle of a pack movie night after catching his boyfriend staring at him for the fifth time in the past fifteen minutes, eyes clearly tracing over the moles on his right cheek. Without thinking, Stiles sharply whipped his head around and loudly demanded, “Dude, what?!”

The entire loft immediately went silent, save for the movie that was still playing on the TV screen, as everyone turned to gape at Stiles, obviously shocked, challenging the alpha, as inadvertent as it had been, a mind-boggling concept for the betas. Derek himself was clearly surprised, eyes widening at Stiles’ sudden outburst, thoroughly baffled.

With an entire pack of werewolves, and one kitsune, gawking at him like he was an alien, Stiles abruptly realized the gravity of his faux pas, feeling the potential for a panic attack start building, his chest growing tight as his palms began to sweat. Needing to get away, if only for a moment, he rose to his feet with a mumbled apology and briskly walked towards the wall of windows, tugging his hoodie on as he jogged towards the balcony door, distantly hearing Derek call, “Babe, wait!”

Derek caught up to him without any effort at all, werewolf speed giving him an unfair advantage as he stopped Stiles’ attempt at fleeing with a gentle hand on his shoulder, turning him before he could slip out onto the balcony. Not even the slightest bit out of breath, Derek quietly asked, “Hey, what’s wrong, baby?”

“You!” Stiles hissed in a whisper, futilely shoving against Derek’s chest, the alpha only moving back a few inches in surprise. Stiles ignored his shock and rushed on, “You were staring at me like I'm some kind of freak!”

“No. No, baby,” Derek insisted softly, cautiously stepping closer to lay a hand on Stiles’ hip, eyebrows furrowing. At Stiles’ disbelieving glare, Derek dipped his chin with a shy blush and elaborated, “Stiles, I was staring at you because you’re beautiful.”

“No, I’m not!” Stiles growled, balling his hands into fists at his sides, setting his jaw. He was sick of Derek patronizing him. “Stop lying to me!”

“I’m not lying,” Derek murmured calmly, taking one of Stiles’ hand in his own, gently uncurling his fingers to drag his thumb over Stiles’ palm. Glancing over his shoulder at the betas, all of whom quickly pretended they weren’t intently watching his exchange with Stiles, Derek suggested, “C’mon, I wanna show you something.”

Stiles huffed and let Derek lead him up the spiral staircase to his private bedroom, the silent walk up the stairs giving him some time to calm down, embarrassment overriding his anger and frustration as he followed Derek. Slumping his shoulders, he tried to make himself as small as possible, feeling like a complete asshole for snapping at Derek for no real reason beyond the one his own intrusive thoughts had fabricated.

He chewed his lip and waited for Derek to chew him out for disrespecting him as the alpha, for ruining movie night, for being an idiot. He deserved it.

But rather than growl at him, Derek just offered him a seat at the foot of the bed, patting the spot beside himself as he took a seat on the dark gray comforter. Stiles was tempted to snort because  _ of course _ Derek had a dark gray comforter on his bed, but instead he just plopped down next to him on the bed, keeping his head down and tilted to the side to bare his throat, hoping to appeal to his boyfriend’s alpha instincts to garner some forgiveness.

Derek leaned in to run his nose along the column of Stiles’ throat, accepting the unspoken apology with a fleeting kiss to the side of his neck. After a long moment of silence, Derek sitting up to face Stiles, he inquired, “Why did you think I was lying when I said you’re beautiful.”

“Because I’m not,” Stiles mumbled emphatically, hunching his shoulders and resolutely avoiding Derek’s eyes, not wanting to see any pity. “Ask anyone. I’m pale and skinny and I’m covered in all these stupid moles.”

“Stiles…” Derek murmured, leaning close to press his forehead against Stiles’ temple, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist and holding him tight, a faint almost inaudible whine sounding from his chest. After another moment, Derek suddenly raised his head and announced, “I have an idea.”

“Hmm?” Stiles hummed, turning to look up at Derek who was smiling widely, adorable bunny teeth on full display. 

“Yeah, c’mere,” Derek urged, moving up the bed to sit by the headboard, back supported by his pillows that were also dark gray. Stiles followed him, kicking his shoes off and walking on his knees to sit in the V of Derek’s parted legs. 

He eagerly accepted the kiss Derek laid on his lips, slipping his arms around Derek’s neck, extremely relieved that Derek wasn’t upset with him. When he felt Derek’s hand at the zipper of his hoodie, he immediately stiffened, Derek mumbling against his lips, “Is this alright?”

Wetting his lips, Stiles exhaled shakily and nodded, settling his hands on Derek’s shoulder as he unzipped Stiles’ hoodie, slipping it off his shoulders to drape over the foot of the bed. He tugged down on the hem of Stiles’ faded gray Marvel t-shirt, looking up questioningly as he asked, “This too?”

Stiles nodded after a moment of reluctant indecision―wondering just where exactly Derek was going with all this―tossing it aside to trail his finger down Stiles’ abdomen, running his thumb over the button of Stiles’ jeans. Stiles just nodded again, fumbling to shimmy out of his jeans while seated on the bed, yanking his socks off while he was at it, before climbing into Derek’s lap, hiding his face in the crook of Derek’s neck.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you, baby,” Derek murmured, running a warm, soothing hand up and down Stiles’ back. Stiles nodded against his shoulder, looping his arms around Derek’s neck, soaking in the werewolf’s warmth, Henley soft against his skin. 

“Pale?” Derek asked a moment later, rasping the word against Stiles’ cheek. He pressed a line of kisses down the side of Stiles’ neck as he continued, “I don’t think  _ pale _ does you any justice. Do you know how many people would kill for this kind of gorgeous porcelain skin? It’s stunning.”

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat at the compliment, Derek kissing over the curve of his bare shoulder. No one had ever called him, or any part of him for that matter, gorgeous before. Or stunning. His skin had never been called porcelain, only pasty and pale and anemic. 

But there was Derek, someone who looked like they were chiseled out of marble, telling him he was stunning, that he had gorgeous skin. It was heady feeling. He liked it.

He didn’t have much time to bask in the moment, though, Derek seamlessly flipping them so Stiles was sprawled out on his back underneath him, Derek braced above him as he sprinkled kisses down his chest. Against the sensitive skin of Stiles’ belly, mumbling against his abdomen, he continued, “Skinny? I don’t think you can be considered skinny if you have muscles like this. You might not be musclebound but you’re definitely not scrawny. Nice and lean.”

Stiles sighed in pleasure as Derek caressed his hands over all the miles of smooth, mole-dotted skin he had never, never even seen, before, the most he and Stiles had ever done up to that point chaste kisses, a makeout session here or there. His words filled Stiles with such warmth, such comfort, compliments drowning out the doubts screaming in Stiles’ head.

“And your moles…” Derek began, running a thumb over a cluster of moles on his left cheek. “Close your eyes, baby.”

Stiles obediently let his eyelids fall closed, listening intently as Derek rustled around with something, anticipation almost driving him to take peek, curiosity getting the best of him. But Derek would definitely know, probably monitoring Stiles’ heart rate, the damn cheat.

Stiles felt a touch of pressure on his cheeks, first the left and then the right, wondering what in the hell Derek was doing. The strange pressure then moved to his arms, trailing down from his shoulders to his forearms before moving down to his calves, Stiles blushing as Derek moved the legs of his plaid boxers aside to get to his thighs, warm hand on his hip as the pressure moved over his inner leg. 

“Could you roll over?” Derek requested, guiding Stiles into the turn with a hand on his shoulder, propping a pillow under his head to keep him comfortable, laying a kiss on the side of his head. The same pressure migrated across his back from his left shoulder to his right and down to the small of his back, tickling as Derek’s knuckles brushed the dimples just above his ass. “Alright, all done.”

“All done what?” Stiles asked impatiently, unable to keep from whining a bit as he rolled back over to sit up.

Derek just chuckled. “Open your eyes.”

Stiles did, drawing in a sharp breath when he saw what Derek had done: nearly all the moles scattered across his body had been connected by lines drawn by a black pen, forming collections of constellations over his skin. He raised his arms to look at the celestial designs scrawled on them, murmuring in pure awe, “What…?”

“Here,” Derek offered, moving to sit behind Stiles, pulling Stiles back against his chest, close but not touching, and hooking his chin over Stiles’ shoulder. He dragged his finger over one of the designs on Stiles’ back, “Cassiopeia. She boasted of her and her daughter, Andromeda’s, beauty, claiming their looks rivaled those of the gods―” he traced over another design “―the Phoenix. After the mythical creature, famed for its beauty and immortality.”

He continued in that fashion down Stiles’ back―Aries and Leo flanking his spine―up his arms―Corvus and Draco on his left arm, Serpens on the right―and across his legs―Lacerta, Cygnus, Lynx, Sextans, and Pavo from his ankles up to his thighs―all the while providing short little anecdotes about the constellations’ origins. Afterwards, he kissed over the constellations on his cheeks, first the left and then the right, whispering, “Lupus, the Wolf. And Vulpecula, the Fox.”

With a final, chaste kiss to Stiles lips, craning his neck to reach his mouth, Derek announced, “Y’know, there’s a reason they’re called beauty marks.”

Stiles couldn’t hold his tears back any longer, spinning to throw his arms around Derek’s neck and tugging him into a tight hug, burying his face in Derek’s shoulder. Derek hugged him back with a small smile, stroking his hand through Stiles’ hair as he cried, just holding him through his tears.

Yeah, Stiles hated his moles. But maybe he could learn to love them again. With a little help from Derek, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr - [hale-of-stiles-heart.tumblr](http://hale-of-stiles-heart.tumblr.com/)


End file.
